Bleeding Stars
by Dreamfyre26
Summary: Lyanna Stark struggles with her betrothal to Robert Baratheon while Prince Rhaegar dabbles in plots and prophecies, but soon finds his world turned upside down by a wild she-wolf. In short, an alternate take on Robert's Rebellion. AU - Canon Divergence. Pairings: Rhaegar Targaryen/Lyanna Stark, Ashara Dayne/Elia Martell, Ashara Dayne/Brandon Stark (minor), Ned Stark/Catelyn Tully
1. Chapter 1

**Lyanna**

Lyanna pulled her knees to her chest and listened to the rustling of the wind. Briefly, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the cold air on her skin, hoping it would alleviate the hot anger boiling in her gut.

_You are to wed Robert Baratheon_, her Lord Father had informed her this very evening upon Ned's arrival from the Eyrie. _You shall be Lady of Storm's End._

She had been so shell-shocked that she had left her Lord Father and brothers standing there and had fled to the godswood.

Ever since, she had remained here, seeking refuge among the old gods. She hadn't wept. Tears were for babies like Benjen, but she wished that she had taken one of Ser Roderik's practice blades with her to ease her burning anger at a nearby tree.

She had always known that she would be wed, but Robert Baratheon was the last person that came to her mind.

She had met him only once when she had visited Ned in the Eyrie and had been more than confused by her brother's admiration for the Lord of the Stormlands.

Robert Baratheon had little in common with Ned. He was brash, foolish and too convinced about his own self-importance. The way he had ogled her breasts whenever she lowered her head had reminded her of her brother Brandon, who was known to chase every skirt that came his way. Barbrey Ryswell had been his first and Lyanna was sure that many more would follow into her footsteps. She truly pitied his bride, Lady Catelyn Tully.

And while she was sure that Robert Baratheon must have some good qualities that Ned admired him so much, it was a completely different matter to spend the rest of her life with him in the far away Stormlands. That Robert Baratheon, not unlike her brother Brandon, had a reputation to fuck every kitchen maid that came his way only helped to increase her fears.

Lyanna knew that he had fathered a bastard girl on a girl in the Vale and while she held no dislike for the babe, it only increased her greatest fear. To be just another forgotten noble girl, like so many in Westeros.

She could see her dreadful future all too clearly. Now, in the bloom of her youth, Robert Baratheon may swear his undying love for her, but after she birthed him two or three babes she would be forgotten.

That he didn't seem to understand her at all or at least didn't even make any attempts to speak to her, before making this proposal, had angered her even more.

They had met scarce a year ago and he was not known to be a shy man either. If he really wanted to know her, he could have at least spoken to her.

Yet none of this had happened. Instead, he had spent his days hunting and whoring.

No, it was surely not love that was driving Robert Baratheon's actions, but lust or perhaps some sort of misguided infatuation.

Yet neither her father nor Ned would understand that. Ned, most of all seemed delighted by the idea to call Robert his future good-brother.

It was all so terrible unfair.

Again, the trees whispered and a flock of ravens soared over the azure sky. An icy gust of wind washed over her and made her shudder.

She had never felt this cold, but then she hadn't even put on a cloak when she had fled from her father's hall.

Shivering from head to toe, she rubbed her hands and bit her lips to drive a way the cold. For a moment she contemplated returning to the castle, but then another, more daring thought crossed her mind.

_I could run away_, she thought. _Benjen and I could live beyond the Wall with the wildlings and giants. Like in Old Nan's stories. No way Robert Baratheon would be able to find me there._

She knew of course how silly that idea was. Her Father's guards would find her before she made it to Mole's Town and then she would be locked up until her marriage. Her father was not a man to tolerate disobedience, not even from his only daughter.

"There you are hiding, sister," Ned's voice startled her.

Lyanna couldn't help but to frown, though it was their Lord Father who had made the final decision.

"Go away!" she grumbled and gathered a handful of snow in her hand, before throwing it at Ned. "I don't want to see anyone!"

Her brother ducked out of the way, an amused smile curling on his lips.

"You still have a terrible aim," he teased, but Lyanna proved him wrong. She had gathered another handful of snow and this time she had managed to hit Ned's face.

Ned gasped and staggered backwards, landing with his ass on the frozen ground.

It was an empty victory though. No pain she inflicted upon Ned would remove the pesky betrothal with Robert Baratheon.

"My aim is not as bad as you thought, isn't it, dear brother?" she asked and offered her hand to him. She was still angry, but she had taken her revenge and was satisfied with that.

"It seems I was wrong about that," Ned remarked and pulled himself back to his feet. Then he stepped closer and graced her with a soft smile as he brushed her wind-swept hair out of her face.

"You have grown into a beauty," Ned added suddenly. "No wonder Robert asked for your hand in marriage. He told me that he loved you from the first moment he saw you. He would never lie to me about something like that."

"Oh, really?" she asked haughtily. "How much did he love me when he was bedding the mother of his babe? I was probably there in the Eyrie when the babe was conceived, but he never spoke to more than a few sentences nor did he try to get to know me. He doesn't love me, he loves the sister you told him about, but not the true Lyanna."

Ned frowned.

"I only told him only good things about you. I told him how beautiful, kind and charming you are…," he began, but Lyanna couldn't help but to cut him off.

"What about my interests?" she asked. "Did you tell him that I like running about in dirty breeches and that Benjen is secretly teaching me swordplay?

Ned paled and shook his head.

"Of course not. That would be unseemly," he replied and sighed deeply. "You are no longer a little girl, Lyanna. You ought to let go of these childish dreams. Be happy, that father doesn't know these secret lessons."

"Are you going to tell, father?" she asked tauntingly. Ned was always the proper son and she loved him for it, but at times it was also bloody annoying.

"No," Ned replied and frowned again. "I am not going to tell father, because I did not come here to fight, but to seek reconciliation. I understand your misgivings about Robert, but I assure you, sister. Robert is a good man and true and he will love you dearly."

Lyanna sighed and was already feeling exhausted from this fruitless conversation. Ned didn't even to understand her feelings.

"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature," she replied and crossed her arms in front of her. "The same can be said of women. Robert Baratheon doesn't have need of a woman like me. He has need of a lady, a very forgiving and patient lady, but patience is something I always lacked."

Then she turned around and left him standing there.

She spoke to no one upon her return to the castle and immediately sought out her chambers. She needed peace and time to think.

"Lya, you are finally back," Benjen's voice greeted her as she stepped into her chamber. The sight of her younger brother, seated next to the hearth, filled her with joy. Benjen was always the closest to her heart. He understood her without words. The understanding Ned had denied her she would receive from Benjen.

"Did you send Ned after me?"

Benjen nodded his head in confirmation as he rose to his feet and took in her frozen appearance.

Lyanna smiled and rubbed her hands over the crackling fire, seeking warmth.

"I see," she said softly and sat down on the bear belt, spread over the floor. Then she pulled off her boots and freed her hair from its' braid. It had gotten wet. "Don't fret, I am not angry with you, little brother. What else did I miss? Is father very angry?"

"I don't think so," Benjen replied quietly and sat down next to her, his hand touching her shoulder. "He only said, 'This wolf child will be the death of me' and retired early."

"I am glad," Lyanna lied and kissed Benjen's brow. "That he is not too angry."

"You are not," Benjen said, knowing her true feelings without words. "It is wrong of father to force you into this and I don't want you to go away. I want you to stay here in the North."

Lyanna chuckled sadly and smoothed his brown hair.

"There is nothing we can do, but perhaps Robert Baratheon will allow you to become his squire. Then I could keep you at my side."

Benjen gave her a sad look and shrugged his shoulders.

"Father I think wants to send me to Riverrun to squire for the Blackfish."

"I see," Lyanna said and hugged him again. Then she let go of him and leaned back on the balls of her hand. "Well, at least I won't have to see Robert Baratheon until Brandon's wedding."

"You are very wrong about that, sister," Benjen informed her in a subdued voice. "You will see him soon."

Lyanna furrowed her brows, her stomach twisting.

"How so?"

"There is going to be a grand tourney at Harrenhall. Father wants us to attend in his stead."

Under other circumstances, Lyanna would have been filled with excitement to attend a tourney, but the prospect of meeting Robert Baratheon dimmed her joy.

It seemed not only Ned and her father were plotting to see her wed to the Lord of the Stormlands, but fate as well.

Fuck fate.

…


	2. Rhaegar

**Rhaegar**

Once he had readied his saddle, Rhaegar pulled his cloak over his braided hair and led his horse out of the stables.

It was a beautiful day. The crowns of the trees were a brilliant green and the sun felt pleasant on his skin. The ruins of Harrenhall were massive, much bigger than Summerhall had ever been, but Rhaegar felt not the same melancholy he felt whenever he was visiting his birthplace.

Harrenhall was different. It was a place that showed the power of house Targaryen. _Fire and Blood_, as the saying went, though there was little left of House Targaryen's past might. Rhaegar had realized this the first time he had laid eyes on the ruins of the Dragonpit. Once the Dragonpit had been filled with countless dragons, but all of this had been destroyed through the Dance of Dragons. It was a pity and never failed to fill his heart with sadness to think of the fate of the dragons.

_Mayhaps house Targaryen will soon find the same fate_, he thought as he led his horse along the colorful barracks and tents that lined the inner courtyards of Harrenhall. Lords and Ladies from all over Westeros had travelled here to partake in the tourney. Even his father had suddenly decided to leave the Red Keep and had destroyed his plans.

_That was the Spiders' work_, he was convinced, but could voice such thoughts only in front of his friends, Jon Connington, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Myles Mooton and good Ser Richard Lonmouth.

Just thinking about it filled him with anger, but there was naught he could do. This battle was lost, but many more awaited him in the future.

The rumors that Rickard Stark intended to wed his only daughter to his cousin Robert Baratheon had only helped to increase his worries. The first match between his oldest son Brandon Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully could have been called a mere coincidence, but not the match between Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark. This was the forming of an alliance that would bind the North, the Stormlands and the Riverlands by blood. That Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Vale, was known to hold almost fatherly affections for Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, only increased his

Sadly, his Lord Father seemed completely unaware of these brewing plots, another courtesy by the bloody Spider.

"May I ask where we are riding, your grace?" Arthur's worried voice filled his ears. He didn't like that Rhaegar had asked of him to remove his white cloak and that they were riding around without guards, but Rhaegar needed time to breathe and to think. Elia's presence here didn't help either, but that was another lost cause. He had told her to remain at Dragonstone, least the babe or her get harmed, but her pride didn't allow it. Sadly, not even her pride, could rid her of her sickly health, something the Dornish had conveniently neglected to mention when they offered her as a bride. Rhaenys' birth had been perilous enough, but this babe might be the end of her.

Truly, it had been a pain for him to bed her with this terrifying knowledge resting on his mind and yet the realm needed an heir. If Rhaegar were to perish in battle he needed to leave the Seven Kingdoms to a worthy heir, but his father was mad and Viserys was becoming more and more his father's creature.

_The dragon has three heads_, he recalled the strange visions that had plagued him since early childhood.

More than once, he had dreamed of the Long Night and the terrors that came with it. Dead man walking and ice men ruling the world. Yet he had also seen the remedy for these horrors. Only dragons, fire made flesh, would be able to defeat the powers of ice.

_The Prince that was Promised_, he knew and recalled the prophecy his grandfather Jaehaerys had believed in. _A prince meant to bring back eternal spring._

Yet such a prince or hero had not only been mentioned in prophecies, but in many tales of old and times long past. His name differed from land to land, but all these stories were connected by one fact that remained the same: that said hero or prince had banished away the darkness that had threatened to sallow the world.

The Long Night.

For a long time, Rhaegar had believed himself to be this promised prince, but now he knew that this was another folly. He had been born amidst salt and smoke, but his dreams always showed him a brown-haired boy with dark eyes like his. More than once he had tried to find Elia's and his own features' in the boy's face, but his face had been too long, too solemn to belong to a Martell or a Targaryen.

_May I be wrong_, he thought as he led his horse along the muddy road, past another row of tents. Ladies fluttered around him, page boys hopped out of the way and the soft voice of a minstrel filled his ears. _May this babe be our promised prince._

As they passed another tent, they suddenly heard the shouts. Rhaegar stopped abruptly and angled his head in the direction of the voices and found soon what he was searching for.

He counted six people, but what exactly had happened between them was hard to say. One of them was cowering on the ground while two others were fighting off three larger boys with wooden practice blades. Even from afar, he could hear the cries and whimpers of the three boys, who fled moments later, leaving nothing but dust in their wake.

"What was going on there?" Arthur asked.

"A fight," Rhaegar replied, an amused smile curling on his lips. "And it seems the weaker party won. We would ask them if they need help."

"Do you think that is wise, your grace?"

"No, but one of them seems hurt," Rhaegar countered and kicked his feet into the sides of his horse.

Behind him he heard Arthur's complaints, but Rhaegar's attention was already directed elsewhere, namely the three strangers. At first, he had thought them to be squires, but he was more than surprised when he found a girl among them. She was clad in dirty breeches and a white tunic, but her even-shaped face, full lips and long brown hair betrayed revealed her identity.

"Beware, strangers! This man is under my father's protection, Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North!" the girl shouted and raised her practice blade. She couldn't be much older than ten and four, but that serious expression of hers made her look older than her years, though it didn't dim her beauty one bit.

It was a strange beauty. Elia face was soft, but this girl's features were sharp and unyielding, like the glowering look she was giving him.

And yet he couldn't help but to be amused by the girl's bravery. It took a lot of guts to threaten a stranger and it took even more guts to threaten a Prince, though she didn't know that.

That she was his cousin's betrothed only helped to increase his interest.

"Have no fear, Lady Lyanna," he assured her and raised his hand in a sign of peace. "We saw your peril and merely wanted to inquire whether you or your friends are in need of help."

The mention of her name only deepened her frown.

"How do you know my name?" she asked mistrustfully.

Rhaegar couldn't help but to smile.

"You mentioned that Lord Rickard Stark is your father. Even in the south we know the name of Rickard Stark's only daughter."

"It seems you are famous, sister!" one of Lady Lyanna's companions added. It was a boy, who shared her sharp face and her brown hair. This must be one of her brothers, perhaps the youngest, though Rhaegar forgot his name.

"Oh, shut your bloody mouth, Benjen!" Lyanna snapped angrily and stepped closer, her wolf eyes eying him from head to toe.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to glimpse under the hood of his cloak.

"Ser Richard," Rhaegar lied and pointed at Arthur. "And this is Ser Oliver. We serve the Prince of Dragonstone."

Then he shifted his attention to the young man, garbed all in green. Blood was dripping from his mouth and his face was littered with bruises.

"I already know that you are Benjen Stark and Lady Lyanna Stark, but your friend has yet to introduce himself. He also looks in dire need of a Maester if I may say so."

Yet Lady Lyanna remained mistrustful as ever.

"Why should I trust you, Ser?"

"Why not?"

"Because you are a bloody stranger."

"Bloody here and bloody there," Rhaegar teased her. The scowl cast on her face only helped to enhance the girl's wild beauty. "You really have a sharp tongue for a Lady."

"Do not call me my Lady!" she snapped, but Benjen pulled on her arm and silenced her.

"Please forgive her, Ser," Benjen apologized and helped the wounded man to his feet. "We brought no Maester with us, but as you can see Lord Howland Reed is in dire need of help."

Rhaegar dipped his head in understanding.

"The Prince of Dragonstone has a Maester in his employ," Rhaegar explained. "I am sure he has a moment to spare for Lord Reed."

"Why would the Prince of Dragonstone care about us?"

Rhaegar smiled.

"The Prince of Dragonstone won't mind. This I can promise you, my Lady," he assured her and waved his hand at Ser Arthur. "Ser Oliver will lead you to Maester Gaerion."

Arthur gave him a stunned looked.

"Is that so?"

"That is so, Ser Oliver. We shall also have need of your horse. A wounded man shouldn't be forced to walk."

"I understand," Arthur replied and soon they were helping Lord Reed on Ser Arthur's horse.

"I thank you, my friends," the man thanked them once he was seated in the saddle. "I shall not forget your kindness."

"No need, Lord Reed," Lyanna Stark assured him and walked next to the horse led by Arthur. Rhaegar had long climbed back into his saddle, but was leading his horse in a slow pace. "These squires got what they deserved. Next time I will drag them before my brother to face justice. You only have to tell us if they try harming you again, my Lord."

"I shall," Lord Reed confirmed, but seemed hesitant. He swayed in his saddle, but smiled at Rhaegar and Ser Arthur.

"I have to thank you as well, good Ser," Lord Reed replied kindly and dipped his head. "Your kindness shall not be forgotten."

Rhaegar nodded his head and soon they were making their way back to the camp.

Rhaegar kept his head lowered, least someone recognized him, but his fear was unfounded. They were able to enter the camp without problems.

Not long after, Rhaegar excused himself and pretended that he had to take care of the horses while Arthur led the Starks and Lord Reed to Maester Gaerion.

Thus, the Prince of Dragonstone spent the evening in company of stable boys and squires alike. At first, they were confused by his presence, but soon they readily helped him taking care of the horses. Once they were finished, they sat down and offered him a cup of wine, telling him japes and tales they had heard about the lords and ladies attending the tourney.

Arthur returned hours later, his face weary from the long day.

"It seems you enjoyed yourself, your grace," he remarked as they left the stables behind them. The fresh air was pleasant, but his mood was dimmed when he thought of the coming feast. He would have to face his father, a man he had tried to stay away from over the last year.

"Did Maester Gaerion attend to Lord Reed?" Rhaegar asked, as they made their way through the crowd of people. "Did he sell me out?"

"No," Arthur assured him. "All is well, but Princess Elia will be asking why your Maester was attending to a stranger."

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders as they neared his pavilion.

"It is me," he explained to the guards and pulled down the hood of his cloak. They immediately dropped their spears and allowed him entrance to his tent.

Inside, he found a warm fire and Elia in company of Lady Ashara Dayne.

Lady Ashara's smiled brightly when she noticed Arthur and quickly pulled her brother out of the tent.

"You are back," Elia stated, but didn't rise from her chair. She was garbed in fine red dress, her black hair coiled atop her head with a red ruby. She looked elegant, but incredible frail, despite her swollen belly. "And you stink. Did you sleep in the stables, Rhaegar?"

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't sleep there. I was hiding."

Elia frowned, like his mother used to do when he had too much cake.

"Have you been playing one of your mummeries?" she asked and sighed deeply as she leaned forward.

Rhaegar nodded his head and sat down. Then he started to pull off his dirty boots and cloak.

"I needed fresh air, before I am going to face my father and along the way we came about the Stark children, defending a certain Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch against three pesky squires. Lord Reed looked badly hurt and thus I offered our help. Of course, I didn't reveal myself to them, least father thinks I am conspiring with the enemy."

"He always thinks that," Elia pointed out and smiled weakly. "And he is going to embarrass us tonight."

"I know," Rhaegar confirmed and shrugged his shoulders as he rose back to his feet. "And that is why I need to get a proper bath, least I smell like a stable boy."

"Your clothes are laid out for you," Elia called after him, but Rhaegar had barely heard her. His mind was darting back to the Stark girl…

…

…


	3. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Lyanna wouldn't be surprised if she would soon turn into a puddle. The heat of a hundred hearths was too much for someone like her, born and bred in the North.

She felt almost overwhelmed by all these new sensations. There was the smell of roasted pig mixing with the sweet scent of wine and the sour smell of ale. The voices of the singers rang softly in her ears as they played up a merry tune for the guests.

Ladies and Lords danced, Robert Baratheon and Brandon were getting drunk in company of a certain Ser Richard Lonmouth while Ned was staring longingly at a Lady, garbed in a pale violet dress. All the while Benjen was peppering Lord Reed with questions about his home, who tried his best to answer them all, but that was hard enough, given that her brother had the tendency to speak like a waterfall.

Lyanna felt no enjoyment. She only felt misery, garbed as she was in this tight dress made of Myrish silk. It was a very beautiful dress her father had commissioned for her to impress Robert, but he had hardly taken notice of it. Fondling inappropriate places while they were dancing was far more interesting to him.

"Who are you staring at, Ned?" Brandon suddenly asked and slung his hand around Ned's shoulder. He was horribly drunk and Lyanna could smell his wine-tinged breath from afar.

"No one," Ned refused to answer, but Brandon had already laid eyes on the lady.

"Gods, now that is a beauty!" Brandon exclaimed, his eyes alight with admiration. He looked like a man lost in the desert, thirsting for a cup of water. "Who is this fair maid, I wonder?"

"I think that is Lady Ashara Dayne," Lyanna replied. She had spoken to her when they brought Lord Reed to the Maester. "She is the sister of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."

"Did you hear, Ned?" Brandon asked. "You should ask her to dance."

Ned gave him a mortified look.

"I can't…she is…" Ned stuttered, but Brandon was already gone.

It didn't surprise here when Lady Ashara joined them later and graced Ned with a smile. Brandon was always a charmer.

"Your brother told me that you desire a dance, my Lord?" she asked kindly. "Shall we?"

Ned looked as if he had been showered with gold, but soon regained his composure and dipped his head.

"It would be my pleasure."

"Well done," She told Brandon later and patted his shoulder, but the way he longingly stared at Lady Ashara told her that he wanted her too. "But mayhaps you should direct your eyes elsewhere, brother. You will be wed within a year and I doubt Ser Arthur Dayne would be pleased if you got too cozy to his sister."

"The same goes for you, sweet sister," Brandon replied teasingly and returned to his drinking companions.

Lyanna had a curse on her tongue, but she kept her mouth shut, least someone heard her.

Instead she directed her attention to the royal family, who was seated on a raised platform on the front of the hall. The King was seated in the middle, his untidy silver hair falling over his shoulders and his long fingernails picking on his food. His son and heir was seated next to him, but seemed just as bored as her. Occasionally, he spoke to his wife, Princess Elia Martell, a dark-haired woman of fragile stature, but there was not even the hint of a smile apparent on his lips.

_He doesn't seem to like his father's presence_, she thought as she tried to make out his features. Rhaegar was known far and wide for his beauty and even Lyanna had to agree that there was something otherworldly about his silver hair. It looked like a waterfall of moonlight or silver and though she could not make out the details of his features she was sure that his face was just as pleasant to behold.

Lyanna didn't know why, but she continued to watch him from afar. Even when Ned had long returned from his dance with Lady Ashara did she continued to observe him.

Only after the King and Princess Elia had retired did he move from his position and suddenly the herald was calling the guests to attention.

"The Prince is going to grace us with a song!" the herald declared loudly and a heartbeat later Prince Rhaegar received a golden harp wrought in three dragon heads, its eyes made from shining rubies.

By the time Prince Rhaegar had taken his seat, the hall was eerily silent. Safe for Brandon and Robert of course, who promptly opened their bloody mouths.

"There you have the might of House Targaryen," Robert snickered. "A minstrel."

"He looks prettier like most wenches I have bedded," Brandon agreed and laughed.

"Lower your voices. This is a feast, not a tavern," Ned chided them, but Robert and Brandon continued their exchange by whispering into each other's ears.

Lyanna ignored them and continued to watch Prince Rhaegar, who started to speak, his voice a low and strangely familiar.

"This song is dedicated to Lord Whent, the host of this grand event."

Then he started to play, his hands washing over the harp in quick and practiced strokes. His voice changed to a softer tune as the words left his mouth. Jenny of Oldstones' was a melancholic song, but it suited the Prince' voice.

She didn't know why, but the song moved something inside her, something she had long-buried. It reminded her of the lullabies her mother used to sing for her and Benjen when they were small. It reminded her of Old Nan's saddest tales and the longing of two lovers that shouldn't be together.

Lyanna sniffed and brushed her tears away that wetted her cheeks, but it was already too late.

Benjen had noticed her tears and was howling with laughter.

"I can't believe it! Lya is crying!"

Lyanna's sadness was promptly exchanged with another feeling. Embarrassment and anger.

"Shut your bloody mouth!" she hissed at Benjen, but he continued to laugh, holding his stomach.

It was too much.

Lyanna didn't think when she grasped her cup and poured it over Benjen's head. Within the blink of a moment, Benjen was covered in sweet summer wine.

Yet she he had accomplished her goal, at least momentarily.

A heartbeat later, Brandon, Robert and Ned were rolling with laughter. Even the ever-solemn Howland Reed laughed.

Lyanna smiled as well, basking in her triumph and enjoying Benjen's dumb-founded expression.

She only regretted that she hadn't heard the rest of the Prince's performance, because he was already gone when she shifted her attention back to the high table.

Robert and Brandon were nearly falling from the table when Lyanna decided she needed fresh air and excused herself.

She breathed deeply as stepped out into the courtyard drenched in moonlight. A fat moon stood on the star-streaked sky, teasing her, like Benjen had done an hour ago.

Birds took flight as she passed black walls and bent towers. There was an odd beauty to this castle and it made her wonder how it had looked before Aegon the Conqueror had unleashed his dragons upon King Harren's stronghold.

Walking over a patch of grass, lined with trees she felt the sudden urge to pull off her slippers and to put her toes in the fresh grass.

She watched left and right, to make sure that nobody saw her and then she quickly pulled off her slippers. She sighed at how soft the grass felt and walked to one of the trees. It was a large an old tree, but lacked the beauty of a weirwood tree.

Yet the smell of wood and the whispering of the leaves gave her comfort and helped to settle her nerves.

It made her wonder if Storm's End had a godswood, though she knew what a silly notion that was. No godswood could compare to the godswood of Winterfell.

"Have you lost your shoes, my Lady?" a familiar voice startled her.

Lyanna's head shot up and she was even more stunned when she found a familiar smile curling on his lips.

Lyanna blinked once, twice and a third time, but it was no mistake. The young man in front of her was unmistakably Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, but his features also resembled a man who had called himself Ser Richard, a knight in the service of the Prince of Dragonstone.

Now that his silver hair was bared to her, she realized her folly.

"It is you…," she stuttered helplessly, and backed away, her feet still bare. "You are the Crown Prince. You…you fooled me."

"So, I did," he confirmed in a mild, albeit teasing tone. "But I had good intentions. My Lord Father would not appreciate it if we spoke to each other. He mistrusts everyone around him."

Lyanna nodded her head and eyed him more closely. His appearance tonight was a far cry from what he had worn in the evening. He had donned a shining black doublet, silken breeches and polished boots. Only his cloak was dyed red and held together by a ruby pin.

"Then the Kings friends must be few," she replied for a lack of better words. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she thought back on how she had addressed him. _Gods, he could take my head for this!_

Surpassingly, Prince Rhaegar started to laugh. It was a deep and warm laugh, so unlike his quiet demeanor tonight.

"Aye, my father's friends are few indeed," the Prince remarked in good-humor and offered his arm to her. "We should take a walk, but I would advise to put on her your shoes."

Lyanna was startled.

"Why?" she asked mistrustfully.

"To speak about our common friend, Lord Howland Reed," the Prince explained, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. "Why else?"

"I see," she replied and took his arm, albeit still mistrustful of his intentions. "What do you want to know?"

"Is Lord Reed well?"

"He is well," she confirmed and marveled at the warmth of his body. "But he is still deeply shamed about what happened. I wish there was a way to punish these squires."

"I am sure you will find a way to help him," Prince Rhaegar encouraged her gently.

Lyanna didn't know what to make of his words. Was he serious or trying to tease her?"

And why was her bloody heart beating as if it wanted to run away.

"You hardly know me."

"True," Prince Rhaegar confirmed and graced her this time with a full smile. "But you managed to fight off three squires with a practice blade. Not many ladies would be able to do that and you don't give the impression of someone who gives up easily."

Again, she didn't know what to make of his words. Was he flattering her or trying to fool her?

"I see."

"You are pretty-tongue tied tonight," Prince Rhaegar japed and pulled her along, towards a winding archway. "In the evening you were cursing me."

"That was a mistake," she admitted, trying to suppress the annoyance bubbling inside her. He was teasing her and she couldn't speak freely. "Forgive me, your grace."

"No need," Prince Rhaegar told her and chuckled lightly. He had a pretty smile, but there was something sad about it. "I enjoyed being cursed by you, my Lady. Most people at court would never dare to be as blunt as you. It was a change of fresh air, just like when you poured that cup over your brother's head."

Lyanna's cheeks burned with embarrassment and she freed herself from his loose grip.

"You saw that?"

"I did," Prince Rhaegar confirmed and stepped closer, his warm breath brushing her cheek. "I also noticed that you were crying. A wonderous sight indeed."

"I didn't cry!" Lyanna lied, but his knowing smile told her that he didn't believe her. "It must have been an illusion."

"Just as you," Prince Rhaegar teased softly and lifted his hand to brush a loose curl from her face. "Nobody can know that we spoke, especially not my passionate cousin."

Lyanna nodded.

"We are betrothed."

"So, I have heard," the Prince stated. "But you don't seem very elated about it? Why else would you be here and not with him?"

Lyanna did her best to be calm. There was something annoying and utterly confusing about this whole conversation.

She should dislike him, but she didn't.

"Lord Robert is enjoying himself with his bannermen and my brothers. He is also horrible drunk, which means you should indeed keep this meeting a secret."

"I see," the Prince said. "But you have yet to answer my question. Do you like my cousin? Has he captured your heart?"

She considered lying, but this was the bloody Crown Prince.

"Not my heart," Lyanna admitted openly. "But he has captured my brother's heart. My father cares not what he is like as long as he can call the Lord of the Stormlands his son-in-law. It is all about duty and honor."

"Ah, I think I know what you mean, my Lady," the Prince agreed and nodded his head. "My mother used to give me the same speech."

Lyanna couldn't help but to smile. It felt good to speak openly with someone.

"It's all horseshit if you ask me. This is not about duty and honor, but power. It's our Maester's fault. He put these ambitions into my father's head."

"Maester Walys," Prince Rhaegar confirmed. "I heard about him."

Lyanna was stunned, but then he was the Crown Prince. She supposed he had to know such things.

"Can you do something about him?" she asked jestingly.

Prince Rhaegar chuckled and leaned closer.

"I fear I have no such powers, my Lady," he said and reached out to take her hand. Lyanna had barely enough time to pull her hand away, before he had placed a featherlight kiss on her knuckles. "But I wish I could find a way to help you with your misery. There is nothing worse than a loveless marriage. My Lady Mother suffers under it every day."

Then, he let go of her hand and his smile was suddenly sad and distant, as if he was no longer there.

"I shall leave you now," Prince Rhaegar declared abruptly and lowered his head. "It is getting late. I hope we meet again."

Then, he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

Lyanna was left confused, her heart hammering away in her chest.

What the blood hell had just happened?

…


End file.
